


Jazz Lounge

by Raven_Ehtar



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Norse Religion & Lore, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bonding, Drinking & Talking, Humor, M/M, Pre-Slash, Storytelling, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 10:59:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Ehtar/pseuds/Raven_Ehtar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Loki pops in to take him up on that offer of a drink, Tony decides to take Loki out on a 'date' to one of his favorite places: a bar that serves smooth jazz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jazz Lounge

**Author's Note:**

> Sitting around one day, the sis and I got to talking about these two and randomly came up with a scenario where Tony takes Loki out to a jazz bar of some description and the two of them spend the whole time basically trying to out-charm the other. Unstoppable force meets immovable object, anyone? That's not exactly what this is, but it's what came from the conversation. And no, it's not nearly as serious as it should be, considering the timeline in relation to canon… but screw that, it's not a serious fic.

“Stark, what are we doing here?”

“You said you wanted a drink, right?”

“This is not exactly what I had in mind…”

To be honest, it wasn’t what Tony had originally had in mind either when he’d offered the rogue Æsir a drink all those months ago in his tower. But an impulse had hit him, and he was notorious for being unable – read: unwilling – to resist those.

So when the green clad God of Mischief materialized in his living room and called him in on the offer of a drink that had been made during the heat of an intergalactic war, his brilliant mind had said ‘yes.’ And while we’re at it, his mind had continued, let’s do it in _style_. Might as well, right? How often was it he would be sharing drinks with a god / alien? Well… with Thor around probably a lot more often than he would like before too long. Regardless… 

In following his impulse decision, Tony had gone straight to his closets to change into one of the sharpest outfits he had, then come out again to a very befuddled Loki and asked him if he was going to get dressed or not. The renegade Asgardian had frowned slightly, but after a cursory look at Tony’s attire, his own had glowed gently, and then melted from what Tony assumed was the Æsir equivalent of daywear and into something similar to what Tony had, but very _Loki._

Tony wore the suit he had for very selective parties. Mostly black, but instead of the standard black or gray waistcoat, his was a deep burgundy. Everything was fairly standard in cut, but sumptuous in materials; the shoes, pants, jacket, cuff links, tie, all of it very dapper, made to fit and expensive. What Loki wore at the end of his little glow stick transformation looked like it had grown on him. Fit to his slender frame, he wore a long frock coat rather than a jacket, and his own waistcoat was just as deep a silky green as Tony’s was red. A slender green scarf around his neck, and silver at cuffs and buttons finished off his ensemble. It made him look downright regal, and taller than he already was, which was grossly unfair. Tony wasn’t short, but he felt it next to the Æsir.

With a quizzical raise of an eyebrow and questioning motion with his hands at his new garb, he’d asked, “Do you always make an occasion out of sharing a drink?”

“Not as an everyday thing, no,” Tony said with a smile. “But this is hardly ‘everyday,’ and we aren’t having our drink here. We’re going somewhere special.”

With as much preamble as that, Tony had gathered Loki by the elbow and made his way to his private jet. Tony suspected the Trickster followed as much out of surprise as willingness. 

Aboard and taking off within a few minutes, about an hour’s travel – which was a little awkward, Tony admitted – and they touched down again in Chicago. From there it was a leisurely drive in one of his limos to a small, out of the way club. It was one of those places that wasn’t ostentatiously impressive; it didn’t flaunt itself to draw its patrons. Rather, those that found their way to these doors did so because they heard of the establishment through word of mouth. It was the kind of clientele that they wanted, the kind that would appreciate their particular atmosphere. Its door was unobtrusive, plain, hardly distinguishing itself from the surrounding bricks. A few well-placed lights and a plaque were all that was needed.

The inside was just as understated as the outside, elegantly furnished and dimly lit, all cleverly arranged so that every booth and table felt as though it occupied its own private corner. Unless one really craned, their neighbor was as much a mystery to them as they were to the rest. There was a bar near the door and plenty of well-dressed employees willing to bring drinks to tables, and through the air floated a thick cloud of smoke, generated by cigarettes, cigars and pipes, and the sound of smooth, classic jazz.

It was while they were making their way to a wide booth set back from the bar but with an oblique view of the stage that Loki finally spoke up. It had been some time since he had spoken at all, and he’d said nothing of their destination or purpose. Tony had to give him credit for his restraint if nothing else. He was looking around with a mix of interest and mild derision, as though curious but not willing to admit that anything human had inspired the sentiment. 

“I just thought it would be a good opportunity to show you some of Midgard and its ways,” he said, answering the unspoken question. “You know, a kind of twofer. Besides, you must admit that the atmosphere here is incredible.”

Loki gave another sweeping, searching look of the building, and raised his eyebrows at Tony. “So you bring me to a tavern?”

“Lounge,” Tony corrected quickly.

“A public house of spirits.”

“No, no, no, not public. A private establishment, very exclusive, very select. Membership only, in fact.”

“And yet they allow me, of all creatures, to enter?”

Tony sent him one of his most winning grins. It didn’t appear to have much effect. “You’ve got friends in high places.”

Loki scoffed lightly. “Friends?”

“Well… sort of friends,” Tony conceded. “ _Not_ mortal enemies. More like frienemies.”

They came to their booth and sat down, sliding into the seats and arranging themselves as comfortably as possible. It wasn’t an overlarge table that stood between them, while the place did serve food, meals were never the focus. Music and drink took priority here, and it was reflected in every way. Tony watched as Loki made himself comfortable in his seat. He was obviously unused to the booth arrangement, and the establishment itself was still receiving some scrutiny, but he was endeavoring to appear as dignified and nonchalant as possible, as though this were _his_ domain and he had invited Tony to participate, rather than the other way around. He managed to pull off the illusion fairly well. But still, there was something a little… off about the scene. Seeing Loki, the purported god of mischief and father of lies, just sitting in a jazz lounge and eyeing the decor was a little mind bending. Perhaps it was just because Tony was so well aware of who the man was that made it difficult for him to make the image blend properly. It was hard to reconcile Loki, the leather and armor wearing madman alien would-be King, with Loki, the well-dressed lounge lizard sitting across from him. Then again, it might be that Loki simply had this _presence_ about him, a kind of larger than life personality that made it awkward to try and fit him in properly with his surroundings. Or possibly both.

In any case, Tony was something of a larger than life personality himself, and he wasn’t about to be trumped on his own turf.

Loki’s eyes came back to him, murky in the dim light, and caught the stare. His lips twitched into a lightly sardonic smile. “I’m rather impressed, Stark, that you manage any level of discretion. I would have thought that a trait quite foreign to you.”

He waved vaguely in the air. “Oh, I can manage it just fine when I’ve a mind to, even when I have one of Earth’s top most wanted in tow. I just don’t usually bother. So rarely, in fact, that no one seems to believe me capable of it,” he added with the raise of an eyebrow.

Loki’s head inclined slightly. “I can well relate to that.”

Their server, a neatly dressed, youngish man came up to their booth and took their order. Tony ordered one of the oldest bottles of Scotch they had while Loki ordered red wine for himself. When he left again Tony’s ‘guest’ turned his head to examine the musicians on the stage. “So, Stark. You have yet to answer my question: why did we come here of all places, just to have a drink? I doubt your own cabinets are empty.”

“First; no, they’re not. And second; yes, I have. We are here, of all places, because it is one of the best places around to find good drinks and excellent jazz.”

There was a pause. “I take it _that_ ,” he nodded towards the stage, “is jazz?”

“Sure is. Noteworthy players, too.” He picked up the playbill lying on their table and rattled off half a dozen names, all of them recognizable to a music fan. Loki’s expression was a blank when Tony looked up again. He sighed. “Well, if you were a little more local it would be very impressive. _You_ would be very impressed.”

“I’m sure,” he said neutrally. “And the purpose of having our drinks with musical accompaniment?”

“Atmosphere. I’m pretty sure I’ve said ‘atmosphere’ a few times, now.”

“The atmosphere is downright toxic,” Loki said, glaring at the smoke.

“It’s mood setting.”

“It’s a miasma.”

Tony rolled his eyes and was ready to make some sort of smartass comeback – the only appropriate kind in the circumstances – when their drinks arrived. The conversation lapsed for a moment while they concentrated on them. Tony sipped at his aged Scotch and enjoyed the warm burn as it travelled down his throat and into his belly. Loki swirled his dark wine in its glass, holding it by the stem before sampling it. Like a connoisseur he closed his eyes and breathed to enjoy the full flavor, and Tony was sure he saw his head tilt a fraction to listen to the band playing. He smiled to himself and did the same, letting the rich tones of piano and sax mix with the mellow tingle of Scotch and waited for Loki to speak next.

When the Æsir chose to break the conversational silence much of the sharpness in his voice had softened, the music, the wine or both sweetening his temper. “Well, it is an improvement over the occasions I had to go drinking with my brother and his little band of fawners.”

“The tone a little different, I imagine?” he asked carefully, knowing that Thor was something of a sensitive issue.

Loki didn’t appear to be bothered by the recollection, however. He nodded, staring off into space when his eyes came open again, his fingers twisting the stem, making the wine glimmer as it turned. “About as different as you can imagine. Nights full of drunken carousing, off-key singing, tales of one’s own greatness – all exaggerated beyond recognition – and ‘tests of strength.’ This always translated into brawls. This...” his free hand indicated the scene around them. “This is more to my taste, I own.”

Tony smiled. “Well, I figured you probably weren’t used to Earth establishments. Unless you were breaking them, of course.”

Green eyes flashed annoyance in the dim light. “I have been to Midgard more often than possibly any other Æsir, in the past and in your ‘modern day.’ I am not quite as ignorant as my _dearest brother_ may have led you to believe.” He paused. “Though this is new to my experience, for all that.” He shook himself, coming back from long recollections. 

“You have used ‘atmosphere’ as your excuse for coming here, Stark. What do you hope this particular atmosphere will accomplish?”

Tony shrugged, sipping at his drink again. “Just something a little more… pleasant than if we had stayed at the Tower, I suppose. The last time we met there, relations were less than cordial. Here we can have a much more relaxed, friendly setting without the memories of the previous beat downs hanging over us. A sort of fresh start for the exchanging of ideas – what is it?”

Loki had broken into chuckles. Not the triumphant or mocking laugh he had heard from the Æsir before, but a genuinely amused, low laugh. He gestured to Tony with his fingers, and Tony realized that he had leaned forward, over the table and was closer to Loki than before, his body language opening up automatically. “Why, Stark,” he said through his mirth. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you were flirting with the enemy.”

The beginnings of a flush tried to rise up. Tony pushed it back down again. He forced a rueful smile. “Good thing you know better, then, isn’t it?”

“Yes, isn’t it?” Loki agreed, his face alight with mischief, though good natured mischief, at least.

Tony cleared his throat, feeling as though he’d been caught in at something, and not even sure what it was. The irony of that feeling when in the company of the ‘master of deception’ wasn’t lost on him. “Well,” he said, making a grab for his previous state of equanimity. “With good drink, music and company, the next ingredient would be talk. Two people with a history together in such a situation, the logical progression would be to share some conversation.”

“Truly? What would you suggest, Stark?” It may have been his imagination, but Loki sounded almost defensive when he asked that, like he was expecting Tony to try tearing information out of him, using the lounge and a friendly air as a cover. Not an unreasonable consideration, but still, Tony was a little hurt at the lack of faith. And then berated himself for the feeling. Of all the people he knew, Loki probably had the least reason to trust, Tony in particular. Determined to put the Æsir at his ease, Tony leaned back again into the plush booth seat and regarded the other man with open, friendly – he hoped – curiosity.

“Since meeting a few of the legends themselves, in the flesh and in both cases face to fist, I decided to brush up on my knowledge of Norse mythology. Which as it turns out is a very veiled history, of sorts.”

For a moment Loki looked puzzled. He tilted his head. “The what mythology?”

Tony grinned. Well, there was another interesting detail to the Æsir. Their sometimes comical ignorance of Midgardian customs and history. Even, it would seem, when it pertained specifically to them. “The Norse mythology. The Norse were, apparently, the folks your people hung out with the most whenever you paid a visit. They committed quite a few of your exploits – either real or imagined – to whatever it was they wrote on at the time. If even half of it is true, I have to say: your people – and your family, especially – are seriously dysfunctional.” 

Loki raised an eyebrow at him. “That seems rather hypocritical of you, considering your own family dynamic.”

“Oh, one recognizes another; I don’t deny that in the least. But the fact remains, you’ve got some issues. The lot of you are in need of _lots_ of therapy.”

Loki shook his head, but did so with a smile. He could hear the mocking lilt in Tony’s voice, knew that what he was saying could easily be turned right back against him again, and that Tony himself was aware of it, so didn’t take it too seriously. “What exactly are you leading to, Stark, or are you so fond of your own voice that you speak at random?”

“Well, there’s no denying I appreciate my own baritone. About half the planet would fight itself to call me a liar if I tried. No, I was wondering if, with good drink, tunes and at least moderately agreeable company you would be willing to tell me some tales.”

“Well, I am a storyteller,” Loki admitted with another ghost of a smile, swirling his drink meditatively.

Reaching for the decanter left at the table by their server, Tony topped up his glass, noted in passing that more strings were coming on stage. Earlier in the day, he knew, the music would have been quite lively, the rollicking jazz that was still stylish enough to be acceptable to the venue. Now as evening was drawing into night it was all mellowing out and becoming smooth, quiet and vaguely dark. “The question is,” he said, bringing his attention back to his companion, “is how many of the stories that we humans know are true? I suspect that the Norse got quite a few of their tales firmly entrenched in fiction. And since then we’ve been dealing with a generations long game of telephone, so even their mangled versions of events have probably been skewed beyond recognition.”

Tony paused long enough to take a sip of Scotch, noting as he did that a brief flash of confusion had crossed Loki’s features when he had mentioned the telephone game – a purely human game, at least by that name – but that otherwise the Æsir appeared to be relaxing. A good sign. Better than his guard increasing, at least. 

It was good, because the one story he could think to ask about might be a little touchy.

“For example, in our records, neither you nor Thor are sons of Odin, save in one variant of the tales where you are an estranged son of Odin. But even then, you and Thor are not brothers. In fact, it’s you and Odin that are blooded brothers in most of the stories. The closest we can get you and Thor are some stories when you help Thor out of sticky situations… or get him into them,” he added with a smirk.

Throughout the speech, Loki’s expression had remained fairly passive, not exactly neutral, but far from expressive. Now some interest showed in his eyes. “Is that so?” he asked, a little twist of glee edging his words. “And what sorts of tales do they tell of Loki getting the mighty Thor into trouble?”

“Well,” Tony began, “keeping in mind that I’m paraphrasing, and not nearly so skilled a storyteller as you must be, the Midgard myth goes something like this…” And Tony proceeded to tell Loki as best he could recall from memory the myth of how ‘Loki’ had helped Thor retrieve his hammer Mjölnir from a giant who had stolen it. It ran that after the hammer was stolen, Loki was somehow blamed for it, or at the least made responsible for its return. When he went to see the giant to see if he could trick it away from him somehow, or simply steal it when the giant chanced to put it down, he discovered that such a plan would be impossible to pull off, as the giant never once let the hammer go, knowing the value of his prize and unwilling to risk losing it. When Loki asked, all innocence, if he would not give it up to anyone, the giant replied no. The Trickster gave a list of names, and to each one was met with a ‘no,’ until finally he asked if the giant would not give the hammer as a gift to his newly wedded wife. To that the giant heartily agreed, swiftly followed by the assertion that he would have none other than Freyja for his wife, and would give the hammer to none but her.

It was a sticky net Loki had spun around himself, (and the hammer), but the Sly One was nothing if not clever and resourceful. He travelled back to Asgard and told Thor that he knew how to get the hammer back, but it would require subterfuge. Since the giant would give the hammer to no one but Freyja, marrying the lady to the giant would do no good, even were she willing, which she most certainly was _not_. They had to trick the giant into giving the hammer to Thor, and to do that, they had to convince the giant that Thor _was_ Freyja.

It meant Thor had to cross dress as a bride.

After many protests, it was done, with Loki dressing as the ‘bride’s’ maid in waiting and the two of them travelling to Jötunheimr to retrieve the stolen hammer. The sham wedding was followed through as long as it took for the giant to hand over Mjölnir, at which point the highly annoyed Thor abandoned his costume and slaughtered every giant within sight. Loki, his task done, returned home. 

Across from Tony, the real Loki looked ready to collapse into a heap of chuckles. “You Midgardians,” he managed, putting down his wine so it wouldn’t slosh, “have imagination unlike any I have ever seen!”

Tony chuckled along with him, pleased to have been the cause of open mirth. “It’s one of our best qualities,” he said, unaccountably proud of his species and their ability to bullshit with the best of them. “I take it, then, that this is one myth with no basis in fact?”

Loki wiped at his face, shaking his head. “Oh, no, it does. But to involve the frost giants as though they were merely irritating neighbors? Quite unrealistic.”

For a moment Tony let that process, making the proper adjustments to the story, and then blinked. “Do you mean you got Thor into a dress _without_ using his hammer as hostage?”

Loki’s grin mirrored his own, his reserve melting away more and more with every minute. “Not as a hostage, no, though I suppose the great Mjölnir played a certain part in the whole affair.”

“Do tell. I’m all ears if the result is in Thor in a dress.”

Loki pushed his glass aside and leaned forward across the table, preparing to tell the story, and Tony knew he’d won a small victory. Putting Loki at his ease even partially was no small thing, but he’d had an inkling that a hint of derision for his brother might be key to it. He’d been right. 

“It was not too long after Thor received the right to wield Mjölnir,” Loki began, his voice taking on the easy roll of a storyteller. “There had been many ceremonies and speeches and accolades, a kind of farcical tournament of strength and heroism was held to see who was worthy to lift it. It’s been spelled so only one is ever able to wield the hammer at a time, so every pomp and circumstance was held to honor the occasion. Of course,” Loki’s lips twisted slightly, “it was all but known that Thor would be the one to succeed, and so it proved, but the ceremonies were held, nonetheless. It gave it all a sense of grandeur, and Thor a sense of conquering where all others had failed. Not wanting to play into the charade I refrained from participating. Some chose to see that as cowardice, or ‘knowing my place’ and not bothering.” Loki shrugged, as though it didn’t matter to him, but Tony caught the brief flash of irritation in his expression. 

“When Thor was triumphant,” he continued, “there was a great celebration held in the Hall of Odin, in Valaskjálf. More honors and platitudes were heaped upon Thor’s head, and no one ate or drank half so much as my very proud brother. So taken with his own accomplishments was he, in fact, that when the feast was at last called to an end, he was not yet finished. He was still hale and hearty, and ready for more revelry. So he gathered up those friends of his that were of like mind – and me – and we descended upon the first likely looking tavern. When it was drunk dry we moved on to the next. By the time we reached our third we had lost a few companions, but Thor showed no signs of slowing.

“I had remained fairly moderate in my own drinking, and by then was more than ready to see the evening come to an end, and more than a little tired of my brother’s bragging. So I decided to have a little fun.

“While Thor and his muscle-bound companions were constantly practicing the strength of their arms, I was always more skilled in the subtle arts. Thor had earned Mjölnir that day, but I had mastered a new trick none of them had seen. As Thor worked through the third tavern’s stores of ale, I worked a small enchantment, making each tankard more potent than the last by half. Even his legendary constitution couldn’t keep up with that and soon Thor was having trouble even lifting the flagons to his lips. I could have left it at that and waited for the drink to lay him out, but I decided that leaving the lout in a low establishment wasn’t quite entertaining enough.

“I happened, by pure chance, to know the landlord of that tavern quite well, and his wife. As Thor became more and more inebriated, I proposed my idea for a prank to them. When they understood that they would on no account get into any trouble for aiding the lark, the landlord’s wife lent me one of her dresses, and the short use of one of her finest caps.

“When that was done I came back out to the main hall, where the last of our friends had finally succumbed to the revelry and were snoring upon the floorboards, and Thor was loudly singing a bawdy tune, all out of key, swinging Mjölnir at imagined foes while standing on the table. While he was in that state and before he could join the others in their unconscious stupor, I, through the use of a glib tongue, convinced him that there was yet one final ceremony to perform before all was complete. Even with how drunk he was, I was impressed with how simple it was to convince him of every condition. Though, getting his frame into the wife’s frock was considerably more of a challenge. 

“By the time we were through dawn was well on its way. Asgard was coming awake, and every eye, high and low born, was met with a sight unlike any other. Thor, their brave Prince, dressed in a tavern maid’s second best frock, complete with flowing sleeves and trailing ribbons, and a cap wreathed about with flowers, dancing up the main thoroughfare of the city, swinging Mjölnir like a dance partner and singing ‘She Was the Loveliest Lay But One’.”

Tony, having sniggered many times during the tale, had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing outright and drawing dirty looks from the other patrons. This was even better than what the myth had said, even if Thor wasn’t getting hitched as an added bonus. Dancing in front of the entire city in a dress… Next time he saw the big blond hooligan he would have to ask him if he knew any good tavern tunes, see if he could get him to blink.

“To be fair,” Loki said, interrupting Tony’s suppressed chuckles, “ _I_ was also in a dress. As part of convincing Thor that it was all part of the ceremony, I had to be well dressed as well, so I attended at a distance in the kitchen maid’s best gown. I believe I made a rather fetching handmaiden.”

He said it with such a straight face, such a neutral, matter of fact tone that Tony collapsed helplessly into a fresh set of sniggers. “I’m quite sure you did,” he said when he could breathe properly again.

“Thor did not, I’m afraid,” Loki continued thoughtfully, and motioned to his smooth face. “The beard ruined the impact, you know.”

Tony laughed out loud at last, though he managed to keep it fairly subdued. Loki’s grin stretched, pleased at the result his story had produced. Tony was glad to see the smile; it meant the Æsir was relaxing even more in his company. “Well,” he managed through the tapering chuckles. “Please don’t try that particular little trick on me, then. I look terrible in a dress.”

“You seem very sure of that,” Loki said, interest lightening up his features. “How exactly do you know that for a surety, Stark?”

Tony held up a finger, still smiling. “Ah, ah. Different tale, different time. Can’t have two ‘dressed in drag’ stories in one night, or we’ll run out of them far too quickly.”

Loki became thoughtful, leaning back in his seat and taking hold of his drink again. He took a slow sip of the wine – had he even finished a single glass yet? – the red of the alcohol showing up starkly against the green of his waistcoat, his eyes as he watched him. Lowering the glass again, he tilted his head. “Then you intend that we should meet again, another night of company and tales?”

Tony paused, feeling something lurking in the question, making it more dangerous to answer than might be apparent at first. It was the first time since Loki had appeared in his living room that it felt as though they were sparring, but it wasn’t the same kind of sparring one would expect from an enemy. It was more along the lines of what one would do with a date. Checking the waters, seeing where one stood, but with the dangerous undercurrent of one who _could_ be an enemy if circumstances were just a little different, if the scales of fate tipped just a little too much. 

“It’s something I would be willing to undertake,” he finally replied, shaping his words carefully while trying to sound as at ease as he had been before. “It’s good to meet, you know, _outside_ of work, get to know one’s colleagues.”

It was Loki’s turn to pause, and then he nodded, with the same smile softening his features. “Very well, then, Stark. Now it’s you turn.”

Tony blinked. “My turn?”

“Of course. I’ve given you a story, now it’s your turn to do the same. _Quid pro quo_.”

“Oh, Latin, very impressive.”

Loki’s smile spread slowly, Tony was terribly conscious of it. He always had been, ever since he’d first seen the man. He had a smile like a knife’s edge; sharp, dangerous and oddly compelling. “I was told many things about you and your little band, Stark, but I feel that less was said about you than was deserved.” He pointed with a long finger; Tony realized that he was pointing straight at his chest. “I would have you tell me of that circle of light. What is it, and how did you receive it?”

Which was, of course, a long story to tell. But that’s what they were here for, drinks and conversation. They both still had plenty to drink and the music was playing on steadily in the background. So Tony launched into the story of his arc reactor, beginning with a very brief synopsis of who his father had been, the legacy he had left and that he, Tony, had taken over. Then moving on to that very fateful presentation out in the desert. He thought about truncating the tale, of leaving out certain details that might be either too compromising or too personal to share, but as he spun the yarn he found himself telling Loki everything, not a detail omitted. He told him about the bomb and the shrapnel lodged in his heart, about the kidnapping and being held captive in a cave, about Yinsen and the lifesaving surgery and the car battery meant to keep the shrapnel from shredding his heart to ribbons. He revisited that cave, the time spent in pretending to build a bomb for the Ten Rings when he was really fabricating a miniaturized arc reactor to replace the car battery and power the very first Iron Man suit he made with the scraps of old weapons. 

After all of that and rounding out with his escape from the cave he could have stopped. That much told Loki what he had asked, but it felt incomplete. And there was more to tell. Besides, he found Loki to be as an attentive audience as he’d been entertaining as a storyteller, and it wasn’t so bad telling it all to someone who showed genuine, quiet interest. 

So he went on to how the element used to power the reactor was damaging him even as it kept him alive, and in powering the suits only exacerbated the issue. He told of the many redesigns of the suit and the reactor, of searching for a safer, alternate power source, all to no avail. He even went so far as to tell about his own slow spiral downward, that he was so sure he was going to die. Loki listened without comment, without so much as a facial twitch to show his thoughts. On one hand Tony was grateful, on another curious. The slender god was certainly attentive to the story, and gave the impression that whatever was said to him was received in confidence. He sat, nestled in the booth with his wine glass in one hand, his green eyes murky and slitted as he allowed them to drift closed listening to Tony’s voice and the cloying music from the stage. Seeing him like that, dressed in his very Earth garb, it was easy to think of him as a separate creature from the one that had torn apart New York. 

From that point in the story they progressed to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s interference, their having belongings of his father’s and the hidden message in his possessions. The rediscovering the new element, creating it, using it as a replacement to the palladium that was killing him by increments.

When he was through, Loki was quiet for some time. Tony was actually beginning to feel a little apprehensive, and ridiculously so, as though he were awaiting some kind of judgment on the quality of his story, and the silence coming from the other side of table was like the long wait before a dreaded report card was produced. 

When the other man stirred, Tony noticed that he appeared a little flushed, his movements a trace more lethargic than before. He realized that the wine glass he was holding had in fact been refilled a few times over the course of his story. “So,” he said, and his voice, if Tony concentrated on it, did sound a little bit heavier than usual. “That little circle of light is another kind of armor. It protects your heart from the barbs that surround it.”

Tony nodded, wondering what Loki was getting at. “Yes.”

“Barbs born of your very own weapons.”

“Yes.”

Loki paused, staring at Tony’s chest, where he knew the arc reactor to be, beneath all the fine clothes. “And if that circle of light were to be removed…”

Tony swallowed, the shrugged, feigning indifference. “Then the shards of my last legacy would kill me.”

He knew it was a bad idea, a very, _very_ bad idea to tell an enemy what he was telling Loki. Far and away one of the top things on the list to _not_ tell an enemy is where the hero’s ‘off’ switch was, but in all probability Loki already knew that taking out the ‘circle of light’ would equal super bad times for Mr. Stark. 

The smile returned, and there was a definite flush on the man’s narrow cheeks now. “You were an iron man before you ever donned your armor, then. The iron was within you, a part of your being, protecting you from yourself long before you turned it all to more humanitarian efforts.”

“Well, technically it’s not iron. It was palladium, now an entirely new element. So… _I’m_ a new element.”

“… Yes, you are,” Loki said with an inscrutable look.

Tony raised an eyebrow at the god, leaning back in the booth. He nodded at the wine bottle. “I thought you were one of those who helped drink entire taverns dry. Can’t handle a little Midgard wine without feeling the flush?”

Loki shook his head. “It’s quite possible to allow more drunkenness to occur than would normally when one has a mind to. You did say that coming here was to enjoy the ‘atmosphere’, and I believe viewing it all through a slight haze is quite essential.”

“And here I thought you were convinced there was altogether too much haze,” he said, waving a hand vaguely in the air. “Change your mind about that?”

“No, it’s still a miasma,” he replied, a trifle thickly. “But I find it more tolerable when not entirely sober. Many things look rosier, in fact. And sound it,” he added with a side long glance towards the stage.

Tony chuckled. Loki might make disparaging comments about the place, the drinks, the company or even the music, but it couldn’t be as bad as he would have Tony believe. He doubted, quite a lot, that the god would have stuck around for as long as he had if he’d really found it so unpleasant to stay. Curiosity wouldn’t have been enough motivation to keep him if the annoyances were _that_ bad. 

Which could mean that he didn’t mind as much as he said he did, or there was some other reason for sticking around. Looking at the man’s flushed checks and wandering gaze, Tony smiled. “Well, then, I guess that means we are most definitely on for another date.” Loki looked at him with a raised brow, eyes shining with amusement. “I mean,” Tony continued, “if we’ve found something in Midgard that you are even slightly inclined to take pleasure in, then it behooves me as one of its protectors to encourage the feeling. Proactive defense, you might say.”

“Uh huh. And do you think your handlers at S.H.I.E.L.D. would approve such a course of action? Taken on your own reconnaissance and with no sure promise your efforts would bear fruit?”

“Oh, I think I can keep S.H.I.E.L.D. out of the loop for now. Take this on an entirely freelance basis. More fun that way.” He winked at the tipsy god, who smiled his dagger smile again, and turned his head so he could hear the music better.

Eventually they returned to more conversation, Tony regaling Loki with some of the more personal stories of the various Avengers; those that the public never heard and which Tony would pay for later for sharing if they ever found out. In his turn Loki related the different customs of Asgard and some of the history of the Nine Realms as known by the Æsir, and some of his own personal history. Most notably his children. He had a lot of them.

Smooth jazz mixed with the gentle warmth of alcohol swirled around them and filled every corner of the establishment. Like the smoke that coiled about the ceiling, it hung in thick tendrils, cloying around everything and everyone in its seductive melodies. In the center, the exiled god and the once-was war monger shared drinks, tales and companionship.

**Author's Note:**

> Every new fandom teaches me how to spell new things. And results in interesting arguments with Word… Damned Norse spellings. Arg.


End file.
